mardi 17 juin 2014

Since English is not my native tongue, I decided to publish two small
texts, the first humoristic, the second more dramatic. I'm very sorry to not
post enaugh stock for the 3 or 4 people who are following me, I'm using all my
writing time to the purpose of the LARP I'm implicated in.

An Umbrella

If you ask
me what I want for Christmas, my birthday or just to make me a gift, I would
answer, without any hesitation, an umbrella, but not any kind of.

I would
like the kind of umbrella you have to search a long time in many very classy
boutiques. Preferably a black one, in any way something sober in the colours. I
would like it to have a beautiful handle, with maybe a strange form like an
animal, a distorted drop or an ancient design. This very handle should be of warm
wood or from a shinny metal that would resist through time (and space). This
kind of umbrella would be very strong, I would like it to carry on with me for
ten years before I stop using it under non-exceptional circumstances, not
because it is becoming weak of its old age, but because I like it so much that
I don’t want to loose it.

I would
like this umbrella so much, that I may move in Vancouver
or London to be
sure to always have a reason to carry it. I may also travel in Viet-Nam during
the rainy season and all this, in the name of my umbrella and all this, with my fear
of giant spiders (the kind we can actually find in Viet-Nam). In any city,
while the sky is blue and the air is hot, I would use it as a can and think of
myself as a gentleman. I would tell story to my children and grand-children of
the adventures of this umbrella until one day my will of being burned with it
will be fulfilled, alive or dead, it would not matter to us, me and my old
umbrella, an old and strong umbrella with no name to continue to walk as a
gentleman in every places my death will bring me.

I’m not
serious on this, but still, if you give me an umbrella for my birthday, I’ll be
happy as that one time my mother asked me what I would like fore Christmas and I
joked about a radio-controlled helicopter.

I still
really don’t know what to do with the helicopter. I guess I’ll find something
soon.

I,
He, then she, we.

I
lost control again.From
what I am and want to beTo
what I love and cherishI
lost control againFrom
my horror and envyTo
the last as the firstI
lost control againFrom
flesh and chemistryTo
odours and looksI
lost control againFrom
hands and friendsTo
cheek and prideHe
lost control againFrom
stupor and shockTo
flight and silenceWe
lost control againFrom
love and friendsTo
fear and shockShe
lost control againFrom
solitude and runTo
run and solitudeI
lost control againFrom
here'Till
tomorrowI've
lost control againFrom
sorrow and storyTo
sorry and historyI'll
lost control againFrom
what's lostTo
what's differentWe'll
lost control again?

Toujours là pour les commentairesOdin
P.S. She Lost Control Again is a song by Ian Curtis, lead singer of Joy Division.